


Long, Long Ago

by Val_Creative



Series: 31 Days of Kinktober 2019 [11]
Category: The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016), The Witch (2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Curse Breaking, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Happy Ending, Healing, Horror, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, LGBTQ Themes, Magic, Medical Procedures, Modern Era, Object Insertion, Post-Canon, Public Nudity, Romance, Scissoring, Shabbat | Sabbath | Sabt, Spells & Enchantments, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Fingering, Witches, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Jane Doe recalls another name —hers— and of Thomasin preaching shame and misery in her life. How everlasting hellfire would keep her warm. Jane Doe never thought of such fancies, nor of conjuring or worship or admiration. But she did forThomasin.





	Long, Long Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Call it a crackship but I kinda love it now after writing this 😭😭😭🥰🥰

*

Hordes of students flee Virginia Commonwealth University, screeching and driven into hysterics. Police sirens roar.

Six corpses. Two are elderly professors, dying painfully from ingesting a form of embalming fluid. One is a certified medical technician, in his scrubs and mask, bleeding out lifelessly with a scalpel protruding in his jugular vein. The other two are students—one, female, in an overly revealing Halloween costume, her eyeballs gouged out with a mechanical pencil. Her attacker being a man in his early thirties, wearing a Greek bedsheet toga and laurel, motionlessly face-down in his own vomit.

And, the final corpse, is herself.

They alleged her death in this to be a result of human trafficking. A victim. Indeed—they were _nearly_ correct. Jane Doe is a _victim_. 

And she will haunt and kill all of those around her until that accursed vengeance bears a sweet fruition.

(No one got close enough. No one _could see_.)

Jane Doe senses a young woman approaching, stepping in through the blood-splattered, double doors. Fearless. Her crown a honey-golden. Her locks unpinned, hovering against her thin, pale cheeks. A gown of black, clinched cotton upon her person. The radio tunes on, blaring with the lovely, high-pitched voices singing about letting the sunshine in. The woman shuts it off.

The gown unbuttons, revealing her slender, pale limbs and her breasts. Her thatch of dark gold between the young woman's legs. 

"Hold fast," she whispers benevolently to Jane Doe, showing her a poultice. The florescent lights above flicker dangerously.

An unnamed, strong presence fills the coroner's room. _Older_ than her.

"Tis I, my precious one," Thomasin shushes her, brushing her hand to Jane Doe's delicate, shattered wrist. "Fret not. Sabbath cometh. I longed for thee. Hunted. I prayed to our Dark One for virtue and health. I'll witch thee to freedom."

She finds a jar of grease, slicking her fingers and touching around Jane Doe's cunt. One of Thomasin's fingers slips in, massaging gently against her swollen, traumatized walls, before more dripping-wet fingers push in. It's a slow, scissoring process, opening Jane Doe for the poultice stuffed with bitter leaf, comfrey, wild pansy, rosemary, elecampane, and wort.

Jane Doe recalls another name — _hers_ — and of Thomasin preaching of shame and misery in her life. How everlasting hellfire would keep her warm. Jane Doe never of such fancies, nor of conjuring or worship or admiration. But she did for _Thomasin_.

Long, long ago.

Thomasin eases the object further into Jane Doe's sensitive, tingling cunt, filling her up. 

Jane Doe's bloody nostril twitches. She feels air filling her too, stimulating her lungs, expanding them and tightening. Her grey eyes fading into a lovely, clear brown. Jane Doe utters a tiny, gasping noise as Thomas watches her earnestly, rubbing and playing with her hairy, aroused cunt-lips.

Her tongue, healed and whole, squirms behind Jane Doe's closed lips. Her bones properly in place.

"Peace, peace," Thomasin soothes her, embracing her lover and kissing her sweetly as Jane Doe awakens from her curse. She sobs out angrily, against Thomasin's damp, puckering mouth, reveling in it. Their nakedness pressed together.

Vengeance truly did not come. But, she needs it not within the ache of Thomasin's heat.

*


End file.
